One Night
by MagpieMinx
Summary: One of Ezio's novices asks him for one night as a favor to the other novices, but also for her own purposes. EzioxOC
1. Chapter 1

"One night," she said, putting a hand against his chest. "Give me one night, and we never need speak of it again." He was wavering, considering his novice in a way he never had before: as a female. She looked up at him with her steady gray eyes, dark hair released from the confines of the braid she'd had it in for training all day.

"Why?" he asked her, staring down at her with honey-brown eyes. Spots of color burned high on her cheekbones, spreading into a full flush and she dropped her gaze for a moment, but then the color faded and she was looking up at him again.

"We perceive that you are more than simply our master," she said, her voice low and steady, "You are a man, with a man's needs and lately you have seemed… distant. Whatever the reason for that, I… We would offer you a moment to forget your worries. They can keep until the morning, else you would not be headed to your bedchamber." She was the most controversial of his recruits, a tiny slip of a girl, unbelievably fast, but having hardly any strength by comparison. Similarly, it made no sense to use her as a spy as she was entirely lacking in any womanly endowments to entice men and was often mistaken for a child and rarely taken seriously because of it.

"And you were chosen for this duty?" he murmured, wondering how she had been coerced or bribed into doing this. How had they not thought that he would crush her, both her errand and her body had she been able to carry it out?

"I made the choice to volunteer," she said, and the color was burning again in her cheeks. They both paused to look down the hall after hearing a slight sound. Ezio sighed with some frustration. Of course someone was there to see whether or not she succeeded.

"Come in, Chiara," he muttered, "The rest of our conversation can take place behind a closed door." The nearly inaudible shuffle sounded again and Chiara followed behind close on his heels, shutting the door behind her. Abruptly, he turned, slamming his hands against the doors behind her as she skipped backwards against the thick wood. Caged by his arms, her eyes were wide with surprise, but something in them was calculating.

"You 'volunteered'?" he asked, his breath hot on her face as he leaned closer. He sensed her nervousness and didn't push her any further, not yet.

"Yes," she whispered, successfully keeping her voice from either squeaking or trembling at the show of aggression, the assertion of mastery.

"Did you volunteer or were you volunteered by another?" he asked evenly, anger concealed. That his novices would presume on what he needed and then sacrifice one of their own… it was intolerable. He would have words with the ringleaders of the scheme.

"No, master…" she paused, and then carefully corrected herself, "Ezio, no one forced me to be here. I _chose_ this."

"And you are not afraid now?" he murmured as he examined her face. There was no fear in it. Her eyebrows knitted and an expression of puzzlement crossed her features.

"Why should I be afraid?" she asked softly, "You may be an assassin and dangerous, but you have never given me cause to fear you. You are my master, my teacher." The honesty in her soft eyes was absurdly attractive and he found himself suppressing the urge to touch her cheek or wind his fingers in her black hair.

"And why did you volunteer?" he asked, curiosity inexorably driving him to the question. This time when she flushed, her eyes slid away from his, lashes lowered in embarrassment.

"You've outgrown the tastes of the others," she confessed.

"But not yours?" he murmured, marveling at this. He was too old for all of them, but to hear from Chiara that she still found him attractive… it was nothing short of intoxicating. A full night was out of the question, but perhaps a kiss… a kiss would not do so very much harm, would it?

"There's a certain allure to men of your age," she responded. He let a smile curve his lips, pulling at the old scar on one side of his mouth.

"All men my age?" he inquired playfully. Her blush grew deeper.

"Not all," she whispered, "Just you, really." She was looking up at him through her lashes, abashed and hopeful. His smile assumed a fond, lazy tilt as he pressed his lips to hers. Her answering pressure was hesitant and tender and said what both of them knew: that she knew she hadn't convinced him to grant her request for one night yet. Her hands slipped behind his head and tangled in his hair, slender fingers stroking the nape of his neck. He broke the kiss and let his forehead rest against hers. Her eyes closed, she drew in a shuddering breath, then another and bit her lip. He felt a bit of regret, not expecting her to have gotten so excited by a kiss, but then her eyes were open and she was looking at him again.

"First kiss?" he asked. Her lightly glazed stare and parted lips was inviting, enticing. He found himself considering the ramifications of a single night with her. Part of him said that it would be unacceptable, but another repeated her promise of never mentioning it again if he so wished it.

"First willing kiss," she said, her nose wrinkling suddenly, her eyes clearing. He pulled away, removing her hands by the wrist and holding them together in front of him.

"What do you mean 'first willing kiss'?" he asked, a hint of anger coloring his words. If another of the novices had made her 'practice', he would very definitely be having words with them.

"No, no one here," she protested, trying to pull her wrists from his grasp, "It was before I was a novice." Still, a deep growl escaped his chest at the thought of his fragile novice having had such a precious thing like a first kiss stolen from her against her will.

"Ezio," she murmured, attempting to calm him, but he interrupted her.

"And did he take anything else from you when he stole your first kiss?" he demanded, eyes flashing. Her face drained of color while she bit her lip, an edge of panic in her look that she forcibly pushed away while he watched. His lips pressed together.

"That's past, Ezio, there's nothing you or I can do about it," she said sharply, and he had to concede that point to her.

"Perhaps, but it makes me angry to think of it," he said, voice deep with displeasure.

"Then don't," she said, twisting her wrists to break his grip, but failing. Still, it called his attention to the situation and he released her. "I don't think of it unless I absolutely have to, which is never these days."

"Resilient," he remarked, nodding at her. She smiled at the compliment and his mind presented another question.

"Have you lain with a man since?" he asked, his eyes growing sharp as he saw her visibly shy away from the question.

"Well, no," she said, "No opportunity has presented itself because not many men are attracted to…" she trailed off and then simply indicated her child-like body. He realized immediately what a mistake it had been to betray his attraction to her with his kiss. The hope in her eyes was palpable and finally he found himself giving in. He turned away from her and walked deeper into his bedchamber, unfastening a piece of his armor as he did so. He let it drop onto the rich rug laid out on the floor and then turned, looking at her. Her expression was hurt behind the resignation, but there was confusion there too as he stared her down from so many feet away.

"If you want to have your one night," Ezio said, his voice floating through her ears, "Then you'll have to be closer to me than that." Her expression was surprised for a breath, but then she was crossing the room, her movements wary and cautious as she stepped up to help him divest of himself of his armor. As her delicate hands untied knots and undid buckles, he bent to kiss her softly again. She paused and his hands helped her finish the job. When the last of his armor was on the floor, he gathered her to him, lifting her bodily off the floor so that her feet dangled in the air before his knees. She tilted her head to fit her mouth to his better, wrapping her legs around the narrowest part of his waist and crossing her ankles, her thighs closing on him to help hold herself up. He carried her to the bed, dropping her on it before untying the sash at her waist and lifting the tunic over her head. She crossed her arms over her chest for a moment, but he took her by the wrists again and pulled them away from her body, kissing her soundly.

"Don't hide," he whispered against her lips, his hand going to her tiny breasts to catch one in his palm. She sighed and then shivered in response. He bowled her over backwards, settling himself against her so that she gasped and arched. He raised an eyebrow at that, putting a little more pressure on her and she groaned, closing her eyes, but not before he saw that they were glazing over again. He pulled away and she made a quiet sound of disappointment, but he shushed her. He pulled off her boots and leggings and then glanced up at her. She nodded, her breath catching, and he spread her, naked, beneath him. She let her head drop back, closing her eyes, trying to resist the compulsion to close her legs and cover herself with the coverlet of the bed. Instead, she knotted her fists in it and tried to relax.

"You're trembling," he murmured, running his hands from her ankles to her hips on first one leg and then the other, the way he might examine the legs of a horse he intended to buy. The contact made her squirm.

"I…" she began, then broke off with a groan, "Ezio, _please_." He chuckled as he went down on his elbows and rubbed the trimmed silk of his beard along her inner thigh.

"Please what?" he asked, his voice husky as his fingers danced over her center, sampling the moisture there before becoming shocked at just how much of it there was. He chanced a glance at her face and saw that she was watching again. He ran his fingers over the sensitive bud at the top of her cleft so that she jerked before showing her his glistening fingertips. She flushed and let her head drop back as she shut her eyes. He laughed softly against her skin.

"No need to be embarrassed," he said, "Men like it when a woman is wet and ready for them." He laughed again, but stopped when she pulled her legs back toward herself and sat up.

"Do you?" she queried softly, looking at him intently with uncertainty in her eyes. He rose from his elbows and opened his arms to her. She hesitated, but came to him eventually, letting him arrange her as he saw fit. She ended up straddling him, her hands resting on his chest though she was leaning close, hiding her face against his neck.

"Yes," he murmured, "I wanted you wet for me, Chiara." He stroked her back in a soothing gesture and she shivered with the pleasure of the simple touch. She collected herself after a moment and began to pull away his clothing, wanting his skin against hers. When she had what she wanted, she took a moment to compare his heavily scarred skin to hers, yet unmarred. Minutes went by in silence while she traced his scars with her fingers. Suddenly, she froze, blushed, and slipped both her hands over his shoulders, linking them at the back of his neck.

"I'm sorry, that was rude," she mumbled, "I didn't mean to get distracted, master."

"I think we're a little past master and novice at this point," he said, amusement leaking into his voice, "But I understand your curiosity. It's quite alright." Her eyes flitted to his lips and she leaned in, hesitant, but then closed her eyes as she kissed him. She pulled away, only to bury her face in his neck again. He ran his fingers through her hair while he felt her nimble fingers untie the ribbon he used to tie his back. She inhaled deeply.

"You smell like… cinnamon," she whispered almost reverently. He smiled, taking her by the shoulders and pushing her back so that he could look into her eyes.

"You smell like lilies," he said softly, "You remind me of one. They don't look like much until they bloom, but then they're beautiful." She flushed again and he kissed her in response, her lips soft and her tongue joining with his and tangling the two. Supporting her back, he leaned forward, lowering her onto her back again. He took a moment to pull off his own boots and trousers before returning to her. Her eyes were locked at his groin with abject fascination. He smirked a bit and supported himself on his elbows and knees above her.

"You can touch it," he assured her, and she reached out to do so. Her fingers were gentle, her grip light and ghosting as she fisted him a few times. His hand closed around her fingers so that she gripped him more firmly before he showed her how he liked it. When he drew his hand away, she continued and he groaned and shivered above her. She enjoyed his reaction and kept going, experimenting with slowing down or speeding up until, frustrated with her delighted look of control, he reached a hand between her thighs and slipped two fingers inside her. She was slick and there was no resistance. She gasped, her grip suddenly shaky as she tried to focus on what she was doing, but failed as he added a third finger. She stretched around him, her breath coming faster while she trembled. Watching was both erotic and endearing, Ezio thought, withdrawing his fingers and gently taking her hand away from him. He pinned it above her head, then took her other hand and did the same. Trapped in that position, she looked up at him, uncertainty bleeding into her gaze again.

"Tell me yes," he whispered, lacing his fingers with hers while he lined his hips up, her slender legs clinging to his flanks.

"Yes, please, yes," she whispered desperately, and he pushed inside her. He took it slow simply because he was afraid that he would split her tiny body open, but she arched and moaned, forcibly impaling herself further on him. He gritted his teeth, but sheathed himself in her to the hilt and she shuddered and moaned again, a long, low sound of mindless pleasure. He paused there, trying to control himself because she was so tight. She wriggled beneath him desperately.

"Don't move," he hissed, and she stopped squirming, but she was shaking with need.

"Ezio, oh, Ezio please!" she panted. He let go of her hand briefly to lace his fingers in her hair and hold the back of her neck.

"Be still, Chiara," he murmured, "Be calm. Give me a moment." She closed her eyes, her breath coming fast and rough as she tried not to move. As the moment subsided, Ezio moved a little and she groaned her approval, meeting his movement with her own. He continued slowly, letting it build them both back to the brink they'd been on only minutes before. She mewled and keened softly, lost and out of her depth while he closed his eyes and clung to his control, but losing hold of that fast and increasing his speed. Abruptly he stopped, attempting to find his self-control again and Chiara swore beneath her breath.

"You're making this difficult," Ezio grumbled, and her eyes shot open at that, the look in them defiant and irritated.

"You're the one being difficult," she growled in return.

"I'm trying to be gentle so I won't hurt you."

"I'm won't break if you're a little rough, Ezio."

"You're tiny. You _will_ break if I'm not careful," he said carefully, his voice strained. Her eyes intense and enraged, she took her free hand and dug her nails into his shoulder.

"Then break me!" she snarled, showing her teeth. Her command (or was it a dare?) demolished what little control he had been holding on to and he took her hard and instinctively. He snatched the hand on his shoulder and pinned it back down on the bed and showed her his teeth as he asserted his dominance. She arched to receive him, letting him propel her to the edge so that she was poised to fall. He tipped his head down and seized a nipple with his teeth and she cried out, a sound of pure, overwhelming sensuality. He let her nipple go and groaned, shuddering as he spilled himself inside of her. He pulled out and she let out a whimper of loss while he let himself down on her side. He shushed her while he inhaled deeply and blew his breath out. Contentment spread through him, adding to the delightful, boneless feeling he had at the moment. She was breathing deep too, and she let out a deep sigh of satisfaction.

"Old man still has it?" he asked with a breathless chuckle. She laughed, quiet and low.

"Seems like it. Guess I have more sense than the other novices," she murmured in response. He reached out for her and pulled her close, tucking her under his arm so that she could rest her head on his shoulder. She plastered the length of her body alongside his, even going as far as to throw one leg over his. When he didn't protest, she settled into her place with a sigh, her breath brushing against the skin over his collarbone. A few minutes passed and her breathing deepened as she drifted into sleep. Ezio listened while he drifted into sleep himself with a sense of peace he'd not had for a long time.


	2. Chapter 2

The three girls sat on the roof of the building, dangling their legs over the side as they talked under the night sky. Marisa braided her dark, golden hair while Serafina closed her eyes, enjoying the night breeze. Chiara peered out at the city from under her hood, the only one with her hood still up.

"Really, the waiting for the right time is the worst part," Risa mumbled, winding her braid into a bun and then taking the proffered pin from Chiara and stabbing it through. It held and she leaned back on her elbows like Fina.

"I know what you mean," Fina said, "But there's no helping it. Stealth missions are best done in the dark."

"Unless you're Chiara," Risa said, nudging the child-like form beside her.

"Don't be ridiculous," was Chiara's response, "I'm not invisible."

"No, just smaller, quieter, and faster than the rest of us," Fina chuckled, running her hand through the brown hair she'd released from the tail she usually kept it tied in.

"No one ever notices you," Risa complained, "You're just mistaken for a child, never taken seriously… you can learn all sorts of things without ever being found out. When you're tall and have a figure like mine… well, you can't go _anywhere_ unnoticed."

"You're not that tall," Fina pointed out, "I'm only a half-hand shorter than you and I manage to get by."

"What about the question of Risa's figure?" Chiara asked, a haphazard grin spreading across her mouth. Fina laughed while Risa scowled.

"Ah, that we were all so cursed," Fina said with amused sarcasm. All laughed, but none missed the step on the rooftop behind them.

"Cursed? How so?" Alfonso asked.

"Risa was complaining about her glorious figure," Fina said slyly, and Chiara laughed again. Risa was trying to hide her smile, but failing.

"I draw attention wherever I go, it makes missions impossible!" she exclaimed.

"Would that all women were so cursed," Alfonso said, and the girls laughed again.

"That's what Fina said," Chiara said, and then they all looked up sharply as the bell began to toll the hour.

"Ah, the waiting's over, now I can do my blasted mission and get back to Tiber to go to bed," Risa muttered.

"Would you like a distraction? This isn't the sort of thing you're best at," Chiara offered. The other three looked at her skeptically.

"It's because I'm not good at this kind of thing that the master gave me this mission," Risa grumbled.

"Well, combat isn't exactly my strength either. I could use the practice and I get tired of constantly losing in the sparring ring," Chiara said.

"I don't think the master would like that," Fina said finally.

"No, he wouldn't," Alfonso put in, "The point of the exercise is so that Risa could learn to be more stealthy."

"And the point of my getting involved is to practice fighting," Chiara retorted.

"Chiara, I'm supposed to do it, I'll be alright," Risa said.

"All I've gotten lately were information missions," Chiara grumbled, "I need a fight to clear my head." The other three exchanged a look.

"We all know why all you get those missions," Alfonso said after a pause, "The master worries about you more than all the rest of us put together."

"That seems at odds with the number of missions he's been on himself lately," Chiara said, frowning with evident confusion.

"No, I don't think so," Fina said, "The master is the one who decides who gets what mission. He's playing to your strengths to keep you safe."

"You're not a bad fighter, Chiara," Risa added, "But you're better at gathering information. That's not a bad thing. If you were coming with me, it would make more sense to have you go in for the papers while I distracted the guards."

"Which is why she shouldn't," Alfonso broke in.

"Which is exactly why I should," Chiara shot back, "Because we'll both get a challenge." Fina pursed her lips and thought for a moment.

"Chiara has a point, Alfonso," Fina said, "And what the master doesn't know… well, either way, the papers will make it back, and that's the important thing." Alfonso threw his hands skyward.

"Of course all the women will band together against the only sensible one here," he announced, and then continued with, " Very well, I won't tell the master."

"Many thanks, Alfonso," Chiara said, rising with Risa from the edge of the roof and smiling at him.

"Then let's be off so that we may be in bed before sunrise," Risa murmured. Chiara led the way, flitting like a small white bird over the rooftops with Risa following behind more slowly and heavily.

"If the master truly isn't giving her the challenge she wants, then perhaps this will be good for both of them," Fina said reflectively, standing next to Alfonso.

"The master has his reasons for not giving her something more 'challenging'," Alfonso answered, "But as long as he doesn't find out, it can't do much harm."

Risa dropped silently into the courtyard and melted into the house, shutting the door behind her. Chiara took a moment to decide how to distract the guards. She decided on something simple and dropped down behind an archway out of sight, then stepped into sight and waited.

"Is that a child?" one of the guards said finally, leaning on his war-hammer and frowning. The others turned to look at her. She stood stock-still and waited.

"A little tall for a child," another said, "An older child?"

"Some children are very tall," a third guard protested. "I was."

"Boy," the man with the hammer said, beckoning, "Come here." Chiara obeyed, to a point, moving forward into the center of the courtyard. She stopped. One of them frowned, no curiosity evident in his face as he studied her.

"He wears white and scarlet," the observing one muttered to the others.

"Assassins are never that young," the last one said. Chiara made the decision to dispel their confusion and extended the hidden blade on her left wrist and drew her short sword. There was a breath of silence, and then the guards began to move and make noise.

"Assassin!" The man with the hammer was the most worrisome to Chiara, but he was also bigger and slower than his comrades so she turned her attention on the three rapiers and one short sword coming at her. She was silent as she fought, slipping under their blades to dance inside one man's guard before she palmed his chin and sent the hidden blade through his throat and mouth and into the brain beyond, severing the spinal cord. She used his chest as a vaulting point, planting her feet and leaping up and back, twisting as she did so. She landed just behind another, slashing at the backs of his knees so that he fell, crying out with the pain. She ducked as a sword blurred by and slipped her blade between the ribs of the fallen man. Then she had to leap away as both a rapier and a short sword converged on the place where she had been and then twisted, hearing the ominous whistle of the war hammer as it swung by her ear. She frowned a little, spreading her attention over the remaining three guards, and then ducking beneath the guard of one and thrusting her sword through his stomach.

"Come, boy, you cannot wish to die so early in your life," the man with the hammer said, "Surrender and we will ensure that you are treated well."

"You don't have enough authority for that," Chiara answered without thinking as she threw herself at the man wielding the short sword and sliced neatly through his throat. A fountain of blood poured forth and his friend attempted to run her through, but she sidestepped the thrust and kicked him in the groin. The man nearly collapsed on top of her, but she evaded his falling body, letting him topple between her and the hammer. But the man with the hammer had excellent accuracy with his weapon and sent the body flying into her, the crunch of corpse-bones breaking loud and clear. Chiara took the fall and rolled, back on her feet in moments.

"You were lucky, boy," the guard said, "But you will not be so lucky again." Chiara backed away with swift, sure steps so that there would be more distance between them. She wouldn't admit it, but the impact had knocked the breath from her lungs and she was having trouble breathing. She couldn't suppress a short cough and the man took another swing at her. She skipped back, out of reach, but stumbled on a body, falling, and watched as the hammer swung towards her, sure of its target. Her mind catalogued the extent of the damage. At worst, she would be dead, at best, her arm would be shattered, if she could interpose it between her body and the head of the hammer. But then none of it was necessary as a wall of white blocked her view of the guard and the hammer was tossed away like so much trash. The guard slumped to the ground and she scrambled up, humiliation flushing her cheeks scarlet. Ezio spun to glare down at her.

"Where is Marisa?" he demanded. Chiara chanced a glance and saw Risa exiting the house and internally groaned. She had hoped that Risa might escape the master's wrath for the time being.

"Here, master," Risa said meekly, handing over the papers she had been assigned to find. Ezio barely spared a glance at the papers as he surveyed his apprentices with irritation.

"Back to Tiber, both of you," he growled. Both apprentices bowed silently and obeyed.

"If he had landed that blow, it would have killed you, Chiara," Ezio said, sitting heavily in his chair, "And what would I have done then?" In the confines of his office, the fear of watching the war-hammer swing inexorably toward her was both past and muted.

"Replaced me," Chiara replied promptly with a shrug, "You'd have room for another apprentice, and there's no shortage of candidates." Ezio glared at her.

"I would replace my lost apprentice, yes, but there would be no replacing _you_," he growled. Chiara stared at him.

"Oh," was all she said, the word breathy and uncertain. Ezio stood, gritting his teeth.

"Is that all you have to say?" he demanded, making his way around the desk and approaching her. She shrank visibly and he stopped, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.

"I-I.." Chiara began, but then her voice trailed away, became tiny, and she dropped her gaze to the floor, "I assumed that was over." He sighed.

"It was not something I would have the other apprentices aware of," he said by way of an answer.

"They already suspect something has changed now that you only give me missions that play to my strengths," she muttered, glancing up at his face accusingly. His expression grew severe again.

"I send you to do what you are good at, and also what will keep you from foolish situations like the one you found yourself in tonight," he said sternly, "You should better trust my judgment."

"If it were any other apprentice, you would be forcing them to challenge their weaknesses, not letting them avoid them the way you do me," Chiara snapped back.

"They are not as fragile to begin with as you are," he thundered, looming over her. It would have been impressive had not the truth of the statement cut so deep. She inhaled a sharp breath between her teeth that was mostly silent, and then schooled her features into indifference.

"Yes, master," she said tonelessly, moderating her voice. A knock sounded on the door.

"A moment," Ezio called, and then turned back to Chiara who stared steadily at some point behind him. "I would see you in my bedchamber. I will be there shortly."

"If you please, master," she said, excessively polite, "I would like to be abed before the sun rises, in my own room." He frowned, but decided to deal with her after seeing whoever was waiting outside his office. The door creaked open an inch.

"Master?" It was Alfonso, but when Ezio looked back toward Chiara, she was already gone, presumably through the always-open window.

"Come in, Alfonso," Ezio said, assuming she had done as she had been told.

"You're avoiding the master, aren't you?" Fina murmured, settling next to Chiara on the rooftop of the same building where Chiara had offered to accompany Risa. "He has been looking for you. Discreetly, but he lingered in all the places you might have been."

"I disobeyed him last night," Chiara admitted, "And as he was already angry, I thought it prudent to be absent today." The sun was blazing fiery colors in the sky and Chiara observed its slow changes intently.

"Risa and Alfonso noticed too," Fina said. Chiara made a noncommittal sound in response that said, _"Of course."_

"He cares for you," Fina said softly, "We can all see it."

"What did Risa tell you about last night?" Chiara asked, changing the subject. Fina shrugged.

"She said that you provided a distraction while she retrieved the papers and that when she returned, the master was there and ordered you both back to Tiber. And that he reprimanded you both, you longer than her, presumably because you disappeared into his office, apparently."

"The master killed the last of the guards," Chiara said quietly, "I forgot where the bodies of the others lay and the guard tricked me into stumbling over one. He was wielding a war-hammer." Fina's mouth formed an 'O' as she thought on that.

"You would not have survived a direct strike from a war-hammer," Fina said, "It would be understandable that the master would be upset."

"It was one night, Fina," Chiara protested, frowning, "And that several weeks ago. He has given no indications of his continued… affections."

"His mission selection for you would seem clear enough," Fina pointed out.

"That is unacceptable," Chiara complained, "That is treating me different from the rest of you."

"You _are_ different from the rest of us, Chiara," Fina said, not unkindly, "It is not that you are not a good fighter, but that it is not what you are most skilled at. You lack the weight required to tip a fight in your favor without ambush or blade. It was why you learned the use of the hidden blade and the short sword before the rest of us. That you might have more options than fleeing should you run into trouble."

"Perhaps it is true, but it is not a truth that I am particularly fond of," Chiara said glumly.

"Ah, well, we all live with those. I wish I had Risa's figure, Vittorio wishes he had Alfonso's speed…" Fina trailed off, pausing for a breath before continuing, "And the master wishes he had not been so harsh with that truth last night."

"So he did send you," Chiara muttered, "I wondered. Did he follow?"

"He will not reveal himself unless you promise to stay."

"I would gather that the master is behind the chimney on the next rooftop over." Two pairs of eyes flicked toward the aforementioned chimney.

"Yes," Fina said, "But he grew more worried about you throughout the day. Stay and hear him."

"I will stay," Chiara said, sounding weary. Fina gave her an encouraging smile before dropping down onto an awning and climbing down the building before slipping away through the streets. The sight was immediately followed by the sound of Ezio's soft landing behind her. Chiara pulled her knees to her chest.

"And what words would you have with me, master?" she asked softly, "Another reprimand? Scolding? A lecture perhaps?"

"Or an apology?" Ezio returned, coming to sit beside her, "I would apologize for last night."

"You are forgiven," Chiara replied.

"You forgive too quickly," Ezio answered.

"I do not forgive quickly enough. Had I not been angry, I would have waited in your bedchamber rather than leading you a not so merry chase today. My apologies. I know that other matters of import require your attention," Chiara said, her eyes drifting over the city, resolutely looking away from him.

"I meant what I said about not being able to replace you," Ezio said, changing the subject.

"I assumed you meant it when you said it, but as I told you, I thought that was over. One night, weeks ago, and you did not indicate that you had any desire to continue," she said, hesitantly, "And so I believed that it was simply that, one night."

"And would you want one more?" he asked, and she glanced at his serious expression, gauging and then dismissing it.

"Don't tease me, Ezio," Chiara said, weariness creeping back into her voice, "I did not sleep last night and am liable to believe you."

"Then believe," Ezio replied easily.

"It has never been about what I wanted," Chiara said firmly.

"Had you not wanted one night, it would not have happened," Ezio said with a hint of a smile, "So what you want matters very much." She was mute, but she turned her face toward his, resting her cheekbone on her drawn up knees, watching him carefully.

"If you do not want to continue, then you need only say so," Ezio said. Her eyes went wide.

"I never said that," she asserted swiftly, and then blushed when she realized that he had said it to draw her out. He smiled softly at her.

"Ah, there's the Chiara I know," he murmured, caressing her cheek with the back of one finger, "And would my little Chiara be interested in returning to Tiber with me?"

"To rest, I hope," Chiara said, eyeing him from her peripheral vision as she stood. He followed swiftly.

"Resting may be involved," he agreed, "After all, I had a long night too, waiting for dawn to come so that I could summon you."

"I had assumed you would sleep and still attempt to summon me in the morning, which was why I left, so that you would not summon me while _I_ was still sleeping," Chiara said, bemused

"And when had you planned on returning,?" he asked, tilting his head.

"Tonight," Chiara admitted. His smile was pleased and he drew her closer so that he could kiss her softly.

"My bed awaits our arrival," he said teasingly, "So we had best hurry back to it." She looked away, embarrassed.

"Will it be welcoming?" she asked, strolling to the other side of the roof and then leaping across the narrow gap. Ezio followed after landing almost as softly as she had, an impressive feat given his size.

"I don't see why not," he said. Her laughter was answer enough as she picked up the pace, flying across the rooftops as he followed close behind, trying to match her pace.

He loosened her braid, combing his fingers through her hair while she snored softly on his thigh. He rested his head against the wall and closed his eyes, the overwhelming sense of relief still lingering, keeping him awake. He wasn't sure what he had feared more in the past day: Chiara's death or the thought that he'd driven her away. She shifted and he turned his attention on her, but she settled and sighed in her sleep. Asleep, she looked even more vulnerable than she did when awake, the tension that she carried always in her face melting so that she looked more like a child than ever. He shifted the both of them and drew the coverlet over their bodies to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Her head felt heavy with its spiraling crown of braids, the ill-fitting gown bunching in uncomfortable places and too long to walk in without tripping over. Chiara twisted her fists in the skirt of the dress, trying to take up excess fabric so that she could at least walk, an angry flush on her cheeks as she inventoried the mistakes that had led her to this position. Not killing the man who had been trailing her. Allowing herself to be followed in the first place. Not enlisting help in finding out who her footpad was. Not telling the Master that she was being followed. Trying to catch the man by herself. She had been afraid that Ezio would find out and forbid her from leaving Tiber Island, but being captured by the Borgia and made a pet of was infinitely worse.

She chanced a glance up from the ground to the crowd, her eyes searching for the familiar white hood. Someone would be here, the Master always posted someone to gather what Cesare's latest campaign was. It was an easy, useful way to gather information. She dropped her eyes again, but then raised them and passed them over the crowd. She spotted the white hood at about the same time that Cesare gestured toward her.

"My ward's father, my own cousin, has fallen to the Assassins, leaving her an orphan!" he shouted, pretending passion over the situation. Chiara's eyes widened, and her gaze flew back to the white hood, trying to identify its owner. It was one of the boys, surely. Alfonso? Draco? Tullio? Vittorio? Ezio never came to these things if he had a choice. Chiara was surprised by the fierce desire to wish that the Assassin in the crowd _was_ Ezio. She dropped her eyes back to the dragging hem of her gown and squeezed them shut, scolding herself for such an idle, dangerous wish. When she had composed herself and shoved the wish into the far reaches of her mind, she opened her eyes again to find the white hood already gone. Her eyes burned with tears, but she checked them as she followed Cesare back.

"I had no idea that you were so committed to our cause against the Assassins," he said drily, waving away a maid and shutting the door so that they were alone. Chiara ignored him, pulling jeweled pins from her hair and dropping them onto the floor before combing her fingers through the braids to release them. Cesare took one long stride and seized a handful of hair, pulling hard enough to tip her face towards his.

"Do not ignore me," he growled. Chiara pried at his fingers instead of trying to hit one of his vital points, forcibly suppressing her carefully cultivated Assassin instincts. Still, it hurt and her face twisted with renewed anger as she applied her nails to his knuckles.

"Your life hangs by the merest thread," he threatened, shaking her slightly.

"So you like to remind me," Chiara snarled back, "You speak much, but seem to do little." He grabbed her chin with his free hand, turning her head from side to side and examining her face.

"It would be a shame to ruin such a pretty face," Cesare said after a pause, his black eyes unnerving her, "I would loathe having to be the one to destroy it."

"Lucky I don't depend on my face for my livelihood," Chiara retorted, careful to uphold her lie that she was really nothing more than a common theif.

"How old are you?" he asked, letting her go. Chiara stepped away from him immediately, needing the distance to rein in her temper before resuming pulling out the braids in her hair.

"What do you care?" she asked, deliberately sounding unconcerned, "I can't see how that would help you."

"Oh, but it can," he said, seating himself in a chair covered in tapestry, "Parents. Siblings. Friends. Lovers. I can eliminate a few of these if I know how old you are." He looked very calculating as he considered her.

"I'm an orphan, no parents, no siblings, few friends, and no lover. What friends I have will probably be gone after you've publically displayed and claimed responsibility for me," Chiara said, watching his face as she shook out her hair, finally free from the elaborate style the maid had insisted on. Had he considered the consequences of publically acknowledging her as his ward? He would be the one expected to get her a husband and provide her with a dowry along with a wardrobe. Yet, much of that was contingent on how much he allowed her out and about in the court, and as of now, he still suspected her of being an Assassin though she lied and protested the accusation vehemently. One of her few blessings was that she had been aware of her tracker from the first time he had followed her and she had immediately stopped wearing the clothing that marked her out as an Assassin.

"There may be someone who will want you when I am through with you," Cesare mused, his eyes raking her up and down so that she flushed with rage and gathered her dress tighter around herself with trembling fingers. The lavender color was especially becoming on her, trimmed with black as it was, but it was a dress that had belonged to Lucrezia first. It was created with a taller, better-endowed woman in mind so that not only did it bunch uncomfortably, but sagged scandalously at the bust and shoulder and the sleeves dangled past Chiara's hands when fully extended. What Chiara wanted at this point was to get the cursed thing off, but she refused to have Cesare in the room while she wore only a shift that was similarly ill fit. Not for the first time, Chiara wondered whether the fact that it was Lucrezia's gown made all the indecency of it still attractive in Cesare's eyes. It was no secret, especially here, that they frequently kept company together. And while Cesare hadn't touched Chiara yet, Chiara was afraid that it was only a matter of time. Instead of betraying her increasing discomfort, Chiara narrowed her eyes and regarded him suspiciously.

"You are young yet," Cesare said, shrugging, "You cannot be more than fourteen. You have several marriageable years left."

"I am one and twenty," Chiara corrected. For once, the man looked surprised, and now he appraised her more calculatingly than he had before.

"You must be joking," he said, and then recovering a little, "I will punish you if you are lying to me." He rose from his chair to stalk toward her with a dark look. Chiara stood her ground, glaring at him, her jaw set with determination and refused to be intimidated.

"I do not lie," she said archly, baring her teeth in a smile that was not really a smile but a show of defiance. She released the fabric in her hands, subtly readying herself for battle, and instinctively straightened her spine to make the most of what height she had. Cesare loomed over her in the same way that Ezio would have, though where Ezio would have been playful, Cesare was overtly threatening.

"You are very small for a woman of one and twenty years," Cesare observed insultingly, bending over a little to look down on her.

"I have always been short," was Chiara's crisp response, her eyes darkening to the color of thunderclouds. Cesare was impressed by the sheer amount of spirit in them and promised himself to keep a closer eye on her expressions.

"No woman I have met looks as fragile as you do." Always stung by such comments, Chiara pressed her lips together and turned away from her captor, stooping to pick the jeweled pins off the floor and examine them. They were more than sharp enough to pierce an eye, but gold was a soft metal and Chiara was not sure that they would pierce flesh, even given enough force. She missed the iron hairpins that the female Assassins were so fond of, sharpened to wicked points so that they were never without a weapon. Few men thought to take a woman's hairpins.

"I am thirsty," Chiara announced, dropping the pins on the dressing table and turning to face Cesare again.

"Are you?" was his unconcerned response. He had gone back to his chair and was sitting in it as if it were a throne, watching her.

"The servants won't respond to any of my requests. They're too afraid of the guards outside the door," Chiara said accusingly, hands on her hips, glaring at him.

"I am charged with your safety, treasure," Cesare said mockingly, rising and going to the door, "I would be remiss if I did not provide you a guard or two." He opened the door and spoke to someone outside before coming back inside to sit in his chair. Chiara seated herself on the stool before the dressing table, her back to the mirror so that she could watch Cesare. This seeming stalemate colored the air with their unspoken battle for dominance. Each waited for the other to speak, waiting to find a weak point to attack. Chiara was aware that this probably was more suspicious than turning limp and hysterical, but her pride wouldn't allow her to let Cesare master her verbally. She glared at him and he watched her impassively as the sun set and the light in the room turned from golden to vermillion, and then to red.

"You sit very far away," Cesare said at length as they waited for drink.

"I do not trust you as far as I could throw you," Chiara retorted tartly, her courage coming back at the extended period of distance between them. Cesare frequently invaded her immediate space purely because it made her uncomfortable and that amused him and served his purposes. At last the maid came in, bearing a candle to stave off the gathering darkness and another followed her with a tray bearing a pitcher and two goblets. The tray and goblets went to Cesare who took them, setting them on the little table next to his chair before pouring the libation. The other maid lighted several lamps around the room before both women bowed out, leaving Chiara and Cesare alone again, without distraction.

"You thirsted, my lady, and I called for drink," Cesare said, his black eyes sparking as he smiled a cunning smile at her, "Come and receive your portion." He held one of the goblets out to Chiara. His strange smile worried her, made her wonder if there was something in the wine. Did he think he could give her some slow-acting poison and make her beg for the antidote, trade confession for her life? She would rather die first.

'Perhaps,' Chiara thought as she rose gracefully, despite the gown, and crossed the room without tripping to take the goblet from Cesare Borgia, 'Death would be kinder.' She sipped at the spiced mead and held Cesare's faintly amused gaze over the rim of the cup.

"What is going on here?" Ezio roared furiously. Alfonso and Vittorio separated, both young men still seething at each other. Alfonso spat a mouthful of blood and saliva at Vittorio who lunged at him, the image akin to a bear attacking a lion. Draco and Tullio both caught hold of Vittorio's arms and Ezio flew in and thrust Alfonso back.

"What is the meaning of this? We fight Templars, not each other," Ezio snarled, taking in the expressions of his novices. Draco and Tullio looked worried, Marisa and Serafina as if they were in shock, Vittorio was in a rage, and Alfonso's was twisted into an amalgamation of disgust and fury, all of that directed at Vittorio. Ezio had no patience for scuffling among his novices at the moment. Chiara had been missing for nearly a month and Ezio was being driven to exhaustion with fear for her on top of his many other concerns. The novices were supposed to be rotating through their normal retinue of missions and training and the search parties organized to find Chiara. But all of his novices were here at Tiber at the moment, and, worse yet, fighting amongst themselves to boot. Ezio was close to losing his temper.

"Have you all gone mad?" he demanded, "Or have you forgotten what the Brotherhood is about?"

"Apologies, master," Alfonso mumbled, wiping at the blood on his chin and merely smearing it.

"We meant no disrespect," Vittorio muttered, shaking off Draco and Tullio who reluctantly let go of their brother-in-arms and stepped back so that the two perpetrators were left standing immediately in front of Ezio.

"You all have duties to be attending to," Ezio snapped irritably, accepting the apologies, "Now quickly and _briefly_ tell me why you are fighting amongst yourselves."

"There has been a traitor in our midst, master," Vittorio stated boldly.

"She is not a traitor!" Alfonso shouted at Vittorio, whose eyes flashed and the novices growled at each other.

"Whom are you referring to?" Ezio asked coldly, masking his growing dread.

"The bitch, Chiara," Vittorio spat her name out as if the taste of it was more than he could bear. Alfonso shifted restlessly, snarling like an animal, only restraining himself because the master was there. Vittorio pretended not to know this for the moment, but continued speaking.

"I went to hear Borgia's latest speech and there she was, the little bitch, standing behind him and he claimed her as his ward while simultaneously slandering the Brotherhood," Vittorio finished hotly.

"You saw this with your own eyes?" Ezio asked slowly, without faltering. A small part of him felt relief that Chiara was still alive, but the rest of him grew abruptly terrified that she was, apparently, in the hands of the Borgia.

"Yes, master," Vittorio said, staring first steadfastly, and then faltering as he watched the color drain from Ezio's face.

"You don't believe that Chiara would betray us, master?" Alfonso pressed, alarmed. Ezio thought absently that Alfonso looked much as he had when he was young, his hair a lighter shade of brown, but his eyes a lighter shade of gray than Chiara's.

"No, she wouldn't," Serafina said at last, recovered enough from her shock to speak, "I will vouch for her also."

"And I," Marisa said, prompted to speak to solidify her position with her friends.

"No, Chiara would not betray the Brotherhood," Ezio said after a moment of considering the faces of his novices, rubbing his face with one hand. Love for Ezio alone would have caused Chiara to keep faith with the Brotherhood, but that she had lived in Rome all her life and had seen how the city had changed under the Borgia meant that the Assassins had her loyalty twice over. Vittorio, who knew nothing of that, still looked suspicious, but also relieved that he wasn't going to be punished for anything.

"Alfonso, I have something to speak with you about. The rest of you," Ezio turned piercing eyes on the rest of his novices, "Divvy up Alfonso's missions as suit yourselves." Ezio turned and walked quickly out of the room trailed by Alfonso and the novices left behind began talking amongst themselves immediately. Ezio said not a word until he and Alfonso were secured in his office.

"Alfonso, I have a special assignment for you," Ezio said, settling heavily in his chair, "I suspect you already know what it is." The young man nodded.

"You want me to see if I can get into the Vatican court, find Chiara, and make contact with her," Alfonso said.

"The search parties will no longer be needed at least, those have taxed our strength to its utmost," Ezio murmured, then looked at Alfonso sharply with a question.

"Do you know anything about how this came about?"

"I do not know the specifics, but Fina told me that Chiara asked for her advice concerning a footpad before she disappeared," Alfonso said, "Fina didn't tell me until a few days ago because Chiara asked her not to tell anyone, especially you, master. Chiara didn't want to be forbidden to leave the island."

"She was foolish," Ezio said quietly, "Did she know anything about the person tracking her?"

"Fina said that Chiara told her that it was a man, but nothing else," Alfonso admitted, "Not even Risa knew that Chiara was being followed." Neither man spoke for a moment.

"I will expect you to make regular reports as you gain information," Ezio commanded, "This will be your sole responsibility for the time being. I will join you at times if other matters of greater import do not require me."

"Yes, master," Alfonso acknowledged, bowing his head.

"See yourself to bed for rest, then to a doctor first thing in the morning before you begin," Ezio said. Alfonso bowed and left through the door. Ezio rested his head in his hands and allowed himself to feel the fear he had refused to show any of his recruits. Chiara was not only captured, but in Cesare Borgia's hands. That she was alive and able to be shown to the public meant that Cesare didn't know she was an Assassin, could only suspect. Ezio could only hope that this uncertainty would persist, or that Chiara was clever enough to convince the suspicious Templar that she was not, in fact, an Assassin.

Whatever had been in the wine was driving Chiara to madness. Over the course of the past hour, she had grown increasingly irritable as she sat there with Cesare Borgia in silence, his black eyes never leaving her. The itchiness of the fabric of her gown against her skin and growing heat could have been chalked up to having been still for far too long had she not also felt a dampening of her loins. To add insult to injury, she had been feeling increasingly lethargic for the past quarter hour. She glared at Cesare, gritting her teeth and refusing to drink any more of the mead with a curt, "No, thank you."

"Oh come, you must be thirsty again, you are flushed," Cesare said, his smug smile growing infinitesimally wider. He sauntered toward her with the pitcher to refill her empty goblet. Chiara glared at him, her spine stiffening and this caused the fabric of her gown to move against her skin and left her with a strange rippling fire in her stomach.

"Please, I insist," he fairly purred as he lifted her goblet to her lips. Chiara lashed out at the goblet, but Cesare had put down the pitcher and caught her wrist with a wolfish smile that chilled her blood for a heartbeat before the heat surged back with a vengeance. She was moving slower than she had thought, and her body _wanted_ him. She loathed him, but the thought of him naked– Chiara cut _that_ thought off and shuddered as the warmth of his hand on her wrist seared her and she gasped at the intensity of the sensation.

"What– " Chiara breathed.

"An aphrodisiac," Cesare said, sipping from the goblet himself, but only once before he put it down. Whatever was left of it after she had drained the goblet was probably only a very small amount of the dose he had given her, and diluted so in a second cup of mead would mean it was that much weaker. _He_ would remain unaffected while she suffered, but it was a kind of suffering that had never crossed her mind. Torture, rape, death, all these things she had been prepared for, but this… she was already disturbed by the juxtaposition of how much she feared and hated Cesare Borgia and how much she wanted him to rip away her gown and take her.

"And it makes it that much easier for you to rape me then?" Chiara asked, forcibly steadying her breathing, "I wouldn't have thought that Cesare Borgia needed the help of anything in order to rape a female he thought was only fourteen." She was attempting to needle him, but he simply stared into her uncertain eyes, watching her alarmed expression, his self-satisfaction palpable.

"It's not rape if you're begging to have me between your thighs, is it?" he murmured, stroking her wrist with his thumb so that she quivered, "But be patient a little longer." Despite his own words, he lifted her and went to the bed, dropping her on top of the coverlet. The series of movements had Chiara's skin burning so that she hissed and tried to escape his grasp. Cesare left her and went to the door, opening it and looking out, beckoning to someone.

"You want help with this pitiful little creature?" Michelotto asked with a snort as he entered the room, "This is hardly worth my time or skills." Chiara started and stared at him, terrified and suddenly shaking uncontrollably. Her revulsion warred with the blatant arousal of her body and she became confused, unable to understand why she was responding so favorably to the men she feared.

"I don't need help, I called for you so that we could share," Cesare soothed his executioner, shutting the door.

"Well, that is quite a different story," Michelotto said, looking at Chiara with new, hideously hungry eyes. "But we are none of us prepared for the situation at hand yet." Chiara shrank back and moved to get off the bed as Cesare and Michelotto began stripping their doublets, boots, shirts, and hose off, but the aphrodisiac's effects were becoming stronger with every passing minute so that now every movement was an agony of heat, desire, loathing and confusion. She stilled herself to control the discomfort, finding that she could just tolerate her own condition if she wasn't moving. Motion made her feel like she wanted to crawl out of her skin.

"Come here, pretty," Michelotto coaxed gloatingly, approaching her slowly, naked, "I imagine that gown must be feeling most uncomfortable." Chiara's opposite desires to move away from him and not move at all only added to the confusion of her thoughts and left her in a stupor so that she let him get close enough to unknot and pull out the lacing on one of her sleeves. Michelotto dropped it to the floor and reached for the lacing at her bust when she looked over and Cesare had her other arm and was pulling away the lacing there. Together, the men shifted her so that her unlaced gown could be pulled over her head and discarded with its lacings.

"She really isn't quite to my taste," Michelotto muttered, "But it wouldn't do to be picky about such a gift. She is a pretty little thing. Hardly more than a child, but lovely still." Chiara, able to grasp some of what was going on, crossed her arms over her chest and pulled her legs into her body and pressed them together, closing her eyes and praying that it was all simply a nightmare and that she would awaken momentarily in Ezio's bed, if not his arms.

"Believe it or not, she claims to be one and twenty," Cesare responded, pulling Chiara's arms away so that Michelotto could unlace the front of the Chiara's shift. His fingers skimmed the skin of her chest as he did so, purposely, so that she squirmed and whined softly.

"She's shaking," Cesare observed, "Though I cannot tell if it is from lust or fear." Both men laughed as Chiara's shift was lifted away and her wrists were handed to Michelotto. He dragged her across the bed and turned her so that she was facing Cesare, her back to him as he knelt behind her

"It's likely both at the moment," Michelotto said, and Cesare forcibly parted her thighs and knelt between them.

"Stop it," Chiara gasped, having finally found her voice, "Stop it, leave me alone, and go away, please!" She was breathless from the sheer force of the aphrodisiac, but both men only chuckled again. Cesare pinched one nipple and she arched into the touch with a whimper of pain. Chiara squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to watch.

"There's no stopping now, my lady," Cesare explained with a cruel smile, "And while you may claim that you'd like us to, your body tells us how much of a lie that is." He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to her lips, slipping his tongue between them and she shuddered violently. Michelotto caught her hands up behind her back and wrapped one large hand around her slender wrists and slid his hand around to the front of Chiara's body, pausing to grope one tiny breast, and then dipping lower to cup the mound of her sex. She couldn't stop the moan that came with his hand covering her genitals entirely, seemingly wrapping them in heat so that her hips pressed forward into his hand, to her humiliation. Chiara, lost in sensual touch, had an overwhelming sense of wrongness and helplessness, but was unable to suppress her responses. Cesare stopped kissing her for a moment and she tried to press her hips into Michelotto's hand again, but he kept his touch light so that she had no more pleasure than she had had before. Cesare handed one of the lacings of the gown he had picked up to Michelotto.

"Bind her wrists." Chiara bit back a whimper as the hand left her, the coolness of the air unbearable after the confinement. Michelotto bound her wrists as ordered, but used either end of the lacing so that she could bring her hands as far forward as her hips, the length between her wrists taut across the tops of her buttocks. Cesare probed between her thighs with his fingers.

"She is more than ready for us," Cesare said, "She fairly drips."

"I would like to taste her before then," Michelotto suggested. The men maneuvered Chiara so that her back was pressed to the bed while Cesare's lap supported her head. Since her hands were fastened, Cesare merely took hold of her legs behind the knee, pulling them up and back and exposing her to Michelotto's hungry gaze. The heady, musky scent of female arousal began to leak into the air and Chiara struggled half-heartedly to close her legs, an attempt easily thwarted by Cesare. Michelotto bent, resting his weight on the backs of her thighs, and dragged his tongue between the folds. The feeling was exquisite, and Chiara's back arched as she cried out. The tongue flicked over the sensitive nub of flesh before delving into the soft opening below it.

"No," Chiara groaned, trying to fight Cesare's hands, but subconsciously spreading her legs wider and allowing Michelotto's mouth even greater access. He took it greedily, sucking on what he could pull into his mouth and lapping at what he could not. Chiara closed her eyes, pulling against the lacing around her wrists so that it dug into them, unconscious of the pain and the likelihood of bruises there later. Pinned and folded double, she was helpless to either hinder or help, only to squirm while Cesare smirked masterfully as he looked down on her.

"She tastes divine," Michelotto said at long last, lifting his head. His mouth was smeared with traces of fluid. He licked his lips and Cesare lifted an elegant eyebrow.

"Perhaps I should have a turn," he said, "But I wish to take her immediately after."

"That can certainly be arranged," Michelotto responded. Shivering with need and wound too tight, Chiara pressed her hips upward as much as she could. Michelotto looked down at her and smiled darkly.

"It seems our friend here would be perfectly willing to oblige you," he added. The men stood, dragging Chiara off of the bed and carrying her to an open area of the room. Michelotto caught her under the knees with his elbows so that she dangled, thighs apart and vulnerable. Chiara wriggled, too aware of how achingly empty she felt.

"Can you hold her?" Cesare asked, watching her struggle.

"Not forever, but she is very light," Michelotto responded. Cesare knelt in front of Chiara, cupping her buttocks in his hands and pressing his face forward into her center. He licked her long and slow, taking a moment to savor her flavor.

"Bastard," Chiara managed weakly. Micholotto chuckled, his chest rumbling with it, but the torment was Cesare's laughter against her sensitive parts, the vibration making her that much slicker, pushing her further yet toward an unmistakable orgasm.

"You have no conviction, my lady," Cesare said with satisfaction, laving the bud of her clitoris so that she threw her head back against Michelotto's shoulder and moaned, "You can no longer deny that you want this." Cesare sucked the tender flesh into his mouth and lashed it with his tongue, sliding three fingers into her, stretching her open. This was too much for Chiara and she climaxed with a shriek between clenched teeth. Impossibly, Michelotto was able to pinch a nipple harshly whilst still holding her, and she thrashed so much that he nearly dropped her on Cesare. Chiara panted, going limp as Cesare lapped at her. But the drug was still at work in her body and her increasing sensitivity had her building to another orgasm that Cesare monitored carefully. He stopped stimulating her just before she reached satisfaction. Chiara groaned at the disappointment. Michelotto let her down so that she was standing on her own feet. She tottered for a moment, but then Michelotto was lifting her by the waist and Cesare was wrapping her legs around himself, angling them both for penetration.

"Why?" Chiara breathed, her expression confused and vulnerable when Cesare put her back against the nearest wall and paused, looking into her face. The stone was cold against her back, a welcome relief, but it did nothing to assuage the yearning between her legs the way Cesare, poised there, would in a moment.

"You know why," he answered, voice sultry with wicked promise. It took Chiara a moment to think about that through the haze of an increased heartbeat and an intense focus on the imminent, intimate connection. She tried to impale herself on him, but he maneuvered so that she was completely unable to. She whined in frustration.

"No," she sighed pitifully, struggling to find the words, "I didn't want this. I don't want _you_." This was punctuated with a glazed, baleful glare that made Cesare smile.

"Then who do you want?" Cesare coaxed silkily, "Michelotto? You'll have him in good time."

"No, I want…" and she paused, staring into his black, pitiless eyes, master of the situation even in the heat of passion.

"I hate you," she bit out between her teeth as understanding dawned on her with a sudden burst of tears. Enough of the drug had burned off that full awareness had returned and knowing what she was about to do hurt. Cesare eyed her carefully, uncertain of how to take her changing mood.

"Fuck me, Cesare," Chiara whispered, "Please, fuck me."

"With pleasure, my lady," he responded, a smile spreading across his face and, for a moment, he was handsome enough to rival Ezio in Chiara's eyes. Something in her chest twisted painfully at the thought, but she had to push it away because in her current position, it would have been only too easy to betray the Brotherhood by saying _his_ name. But the way Cesare claimed her body was as unlike Ezio as it could have been. He drove so deeply into her that she cried out in pain, but what was left of the aphrodisiac melded that with her arousal so that she responded with an intensity that surprised them both. Cesare _wanted_ to hurt her, to punish her for stopping short of giving him a name, any name that he could investigate, and Chiara knew what his aim was, but instead she cried out for more, sobbing his name and clinging to him with all the strength of her slender fingers. Surprising as it was, the idea of it was too much for Cesare and he grunted as he spilled himself inside of her. She shivered when he withdrew himself.

"She is all yours, my friend," he said to Michelotto, who took hold of Chiara's arm with gleaming eyes.

"And I know exactly how I want her," he said, fairly throwing her at the bed. Chiara stumbled and half-fell, feeling the covers beneath her stomach before Michelotto was pinning her down, kicking her legs apart. She was standing on tiptoe, just able to reach the floor, when he invaded her roughly and set his pace hard and fast and brutal. Chiara bit her lip and whimpered, pressing back against him until, finally, Michelotto was done and withdrawing. Cesare had put his shirt, hose, and boots back on and stood by with a knife to cut Chiara free. Exhausted, she sank to the floor and leaned her head against the bedpost, dizzy and sick.

"Your gift is well-received," Michelotto said to Cesare, catching his breath, "She's a good fuck."

"Your gratitude is appreciated," Cesare said shortly, bending and cutting away the lacing around Chiara's wrists. She pressed herself against the bed, shying away from him, but had no energy to put into escaping from him. Having her hands back, she gripped the bedpost to help pull herself up, but her hands were numb and she fell with a soft sound of alarm.

"IF you ever have need of my assistance with her, please, let me know," Michelotto said with a leer in her direction.

"I will," Cesare said, "Now get out." MIchelotto bowed out, visibly irritated by Cesare's sharp command, but said nothing more. With Michelotto out of the room, he turned back to Chiara.

"I will send in the maids to attend you," Cesare said, "You would benefit from a bath."

"A bath won't wash away what you've done to me," Chiara responded, no spirit in her tone. She curled into herself, not looking at him, not thinking about what he had just done to her, what she had just done to herself.

"Did I break you so quickly?" Cesare questioned mockingly, having gone to pick his doublet off of the floor to put it on, "You've disappointed me, my lady. With all that spirit, I expected you to put up more of a fight."

"You don't even know my name," Chiara spat, fury lighting her eyes as she snapped her head up to glower at him, but her body was unable to do what she so dearly wanted to at the moment: to rise and fly at him, vault over his shoulder and catch his chin and wrench it back and to the side as she came down behind him, breaking his neck. Instead, she shook with rage on the floor at her own, temporary, impotence.

"You refused to tell me your name, so I gave you one," Cesare quipped cruelly from across the room, "Mea." With a scream of wrath, Chiara was on her feet and charging him, but Cesare, with a condescending smile, slipped out the door and shut it. Chiara threw herself against the door, pounding on it, howling every foul word that came to mind. It only took her a few minutes to realize that she simply could not keep up this level of energy and she sagged into the tapestry chair. A strange numbness set in, and Chiara lost all sense of time. At some point, a knock sounded on the door, and then a maid let herself in.

"My lady, it was brought to my attention that you might like a bath," the maid said, her nose wrinkling at the powerful aroma of sex that still lingered.

"Yes," Chiara said, voice low with weariness, "Quickly." The maid responded with alacrity before disappearing out the door. More time passed, but Chiara did not move from the tapestry chair and nearly fell asleep there when the knock sounded and the maids bustled in with a tub and plenty of hot water. Chiara dismissed them all for the time being and then gingerly eased her body into the tub, soreness having set in.

Chiara sat in the tub, the water up to her neck as she tried to sort out her emotions at last. On the one hand, she had been under the influence of the drug Cesare had used, so none of it was her fault. On the other, Cesare had been right: she had begged to have them both before it was over and she had gotten her wish. And somewhere, overarching all of that rationale was the fear that Ezio would hate her for what she had done, whether it was her fault or not. Even surrounded by the hot water, her hair trailing in damp tendrils around her, she shivered, chilled to the bone. She felt like a piece of cheesecloth: thin and permeable. She had been violated, and yet more disturbing, they had made her want it. She had been raped once before, long ago, before she was a novice, but all that man had been able to reach was her body. Cesare had taken her body, but somehow reached inside her and taken her soul too.

"Death would have been so much kinder," Chiara whispered to herself as the tears finally began to come, knowing that Cesare had judged her character well enough to know how much more she would suffer this way, under the weight of not just what he had done to her, but what she had done, and would do, to herself.


	4. Chapter 4

The aphrodisiac was Cesare's best weapon against her and he made use of it intermittently over the next week. While Chiara had handled his subsequent attempts to seduce information from her well enough, she began refusing all food and drink but water and gruel. By limiting herself to the food she had grown up with, it was easier to discern the bitter taste of the aphrodisiac and she was able to simply forgo eating when it made an appearance. Her only worry was that it left Cesare in an untenable position. Having failed to get information from her at every turn, he might now feel forced to attempt the torture that he had avoided thus far. Having no experience with being tortured, Chiara was unsure of how she would fare under the influence of pain. Pain inflicted for pain's sake was, she had no doubt, different from the pain engendered by a rough coupling. A bruise here, soreness there… that would be nothing at all compared to a knife sliding through or a brand held against her skin. Or worse yet, broken bones that would render her helpless for many months and keep her from ever returning to the Brotherhood. If that happened, there was no chance of keeping Ezio. The thought made her smile. Ezio was an eagle in a wide sky, there was no keeping such a creature, only earning its affections.

Muffled yelling outside Chiara's room reached her ears and she began moving toward the door, no longer hindered by terrible fitting clothing. The lavender and black gown had finally been made over to fit her and three more gowns had joined it: red, white, and black. Though Chiara was still several feet from the door, she sprang backward as it burst open.

"Coward!" Lucrezia shouted at Cesare over her shoulder. Her eyes were strikingly blue, like the sky, but they were cold and haughty. Attired in a rich combination of dark red dress with slashed sleeves to show the emerald chemise beneath, golden hair braided about her head like a coronet, Lucrezia was the very image of affluence and power.

"And this is what has been occupying your bed while I was away," Lucrezia demanded, "Why, she's only a child! She has nothing in the way of charms to attract a man like _you_." Cesare appeared behind his sister and took a firm hold of her arm, attempting to steer her out of and away from the room. His face said that he was short of temper as he tried to turn himself and his sister about in the doorway. Lucrezia, having almost an overabundance of the charms she (correctly) accused Chiara of not having, made the maneuver difficult and shook him off and strode toward Chiara. Lucrezia was also in bad temper, but from jealousy and possessiveness rather than being thwarted, like Cesare. Having had opportunity to look at Lucrezia's features, Chiara could see some similarity in the features of their faces. There was a certain arch to the nostril and eyebrow that made the siblings look haughty and a way of holding their heads that intimated command. But they were also different. Cesare's pointed chin, dark hair and black eyes made him look predatory while Lucrezia's face was all soft, feminine beauty.

"What is your name, little girl?" Lucrezia asked insultingly, seizing Chiara's chin and forcing her to look up into the other woman's face.

"Mea, my lady," Chiara patronized, performing as much of a curtsey as Lucrezia was currently allowing, her eyes flickering to Cesare who abruptly looked incensed. Chiara would have smiled if she could: using the name Cesare claimed to have given her meant that he still didn't know her real name, and addressing his sister the way he addressed her was a little salt added to the wound.

"Mea?" Lucrezia grumbled, releasing Chiara's chin with a throwing motion that caused her to stumble back a step, "What kind of a name is Mea? Sounds like something Cesare would call you. Mea. Mine." The thought made Lucrezia furious and she turned on Cesare.

"You thought you could just take on whatever plaything you liked while I was away?" the regal woman raged at her brother. Cesare was inches from losing his temper, but was unable to loom over Lucrezia the way he did over Chiara because his sister was of like stature to himself.

"One of my men was tailing her and brought her in. She could very well be an Assassin!" Cesare snarled.

"Her? An Assassin?" Lucrezia bellowed at him, "Then so am I! And so are you! Have you any thought in your head? A child like that an Assassin? Pah!" Chiara backed away from them, suppressing a smile at seeing someone stand up so vehemently to Cesare, but wary of the fact that the siblings anger could just as easily be turned on herself.

"Hold your tongue!" Cesare thundered, turning red in the face at this affront.

"Idiot!" Lucrezia roared, having just as much in the way of lungpower as her brother, "You thought I wouldn't find offense in your taking her to your bed?" She stabbed a finger into her brother's chest.

"Mark my words, brother, I am not pleased," she growled, "Beware of displeasing me further lest you find cantarella in your wine!"

"You wouldn't dare!" Cesare snapped, and then taking a different tack, "Whose bed would bring you satisfaction after I was gone? Tell me! Your husband's?" Lucrezia's face blanched white, and then turned purple.

"You think that I couldn't find satisfaction elsewhere, brother?" Lucrezia shrieked, "How about I take your new little toy to my bed then? Perhaps her tongue shall give better satisfaction than your cock!" Chiara was surprised by the appearance of vulgarity and a little dumbfounded, having never considered attempting such an act with another woman, but instantly wanted no part of this. Luckily for her, the two seemed to have forgotten that anyone else was around. It was as if the guards were not there, as if Chiara did not exist, and Cesare had charged his sister and pinned her against the wall, his hand finding its way beneath Lucrezia's skirts.

"You son of a bitch!" Lucrezia screamed. The copious skirts concealed Cesare's hand, but his arm was moving and Lucrezia was thrashing against whatever he was doing.

"Really, sister? You think Mea's tongue could give you half the satisfaction of even my hand, much less my cock? You are sadly mistaken!" Cesare's face was twisted into a nasty sneer, and Lucrezia spit in it. Cesare wiped his face on his shoulder and then turned Lucrezia by sheer dint of force, pressing her forward against the wall and pinning her there while he untied the lace on his hose and fed himself into her. Both moaned, Lucrezia scrabbling against the stone with her nails and Cesare's fingers daggering into his sister's hips with bruising force that Chiara was all too familiar with. Cesare powered into his sister, hissing angry words in Lucrezia's ear at a rapid-fire pace that made it unintelligible to anyone else. But as Chiara watched, she became aware of something: Cesare had held back when he had taken her. He fucked Lucrezia with abandon, thrusting into her so powerfully that the woman pressed against the wall in time with his rhythm. Cesare tore at the low neckline of Lucrezia's dress and freed a breast, white flesh spilling from between his fingers as he gripped her. Lucrezia cried out, a sound of mixed pain and pleasure and Cesare growled something into her ear.

"Yes!" Lucrezia sobbed in response, "Anything, Cesare, just don't stop!" Cesare increased his tempo, and Lucrezia screamed and sagged against the wall. Cesare continued and Lucrezia moaned as he drove her into a second, and then a third climax before reaching his peak. Panting, he withdrew from his sister, letting her skirts drop. He walked shakily to the tapestry chair and sank into it with a sigh, panting.

"Let that be a reminder, Lucrezia," he said in a tone of reprimand, "Do not behave in such fashion again." Lucrezia was rearranging herself, and then went to her brother, kneeling before him and taking his limp penis into her mouth so that he groaned.

"And does this please you?" Lucrezia murmured lasciviously around his hardening cock, looking slyly up at her brother. He rested a hand on her head and stroked her hair, and then he glanced up at Chiara who was carefully looking away.

"Mea," Cesare rumbled, a throaty growl of pleasure accompanied by a crooked finger, "Come here." Chiara's head whipped around and she glared at him.

"No," she bit out, "Do what you like, but I'll have none of it." Her slender hand slashed through the air in an unmistakable gesture of defiance, her expression tinged with disgust.

"What I would like," Cesare enunciated very carefully, "Is for you to come here. Now." His tone of command was unmistakable and his eyes smoldered. Chiara's lips pulled back from her teeth in unconscious defiance, her gray eyes turning nearly black, her small hands fisting.

"No," Chiara spat, her eyes flashing toward the guard. Cesare realized a moment too late what she intended to do. Gathering her skirts, Chiara bolted for the door, sliding by the guard like lightning and escaping into the hall like a bird suddenly loosed from its cage.

"Fuck!" Cesare snarled, shoving a shocked Lucrezia aside and tucking himself back into his hose. The guard gaped at the door until Cesare seized him by the collar and threw him out of the room in his rage.

"Find her!" Cesare shouted, and the guard scrambled up in a flurry of clanking armor to find others to help him search.

Chiara stopped running after her second corner and took three deep breaths in the shadow of a suit of armor. She hastily braided her hair so that it hung down her back, then stepped out into the hallway and passed a pair of cardinals, head down and hands folded demurely. Her disguise worked, and she went by unnoticed. She was unsure how long she could slip by the people in the Vatican before all of the guards were alerted to her escape, but she would be damned if she wouldn't make as much use of this opportunity to escape as she could. She walked on, watching the play of light on the floors of the rooms around her and that she passed though, heading steadfastly north with a fast-beating heart.

Ezio watched Alfonso slip through the southern gates of the Vatican, dressed as a servant and carrying a bundle that he had presented for the guards' inspection. The young man passed through almost invisibly, as if in his passion to find Chiara he had absorbed a little of her anonymity. What he didn't have, unfortunately, was an unusual lineage.

Whoever her parents had been, Chiara had inherited an unusually large degree of Assassin blood. It was what made her content in her lot as an orphan, made her instinctively avoid attention so that she blended invisibly into a crowd, made her fly across rooftops as if they were flat ground beneath her feet. Ezio frequently scanned possible apprentices with his Eagle vision, and he had seen everything from faint glowing to a deeper shimmer, but chasing Chiara that first time across the rooftops, he had seen her shine. Light had coalesced along her back as she leapt from rooftop to rooftop, expanding in the semblance of wings as she flew over a distance that should have been nearly impossible for her to jump. Amazed, Ezio had hunted her down, nearly obsessed with adding this angel to the ranks of his apprentices.

He'd succeeded, but at what cost? He'd lost his heart to the little minx, loved her, but could never do what any woman would want: settle down with a trade, have a family. Revenge still burned like a fire in his heart, and he understood that he was stoking it, leaving little room for anything else. But that desire for revenge was mixed with a wider goal, to bring down the Templar order and secure _choice_ for all. That was worth any sacrifice, but that didn't stop him from trying to rescue her.

Alfonso safely inside the Vatican, Ezio was on the move to observe the other gates.

Chiara flitted through shadows, sidling behind and into groups of people as they passed, hovering on their fringes and departing as silently and suddenly as she had come. Though most of the guards had been alerted, she was still virtually ignored. Whatever the order had been, it hadn't described her well enough for anyone to identify her. She saw an entrance to the courtyard and drifted toward it, playing the part of a curious, careless young girl. She stepped outside, into the dazzling sunshine, and ran into a servant, his fine shirt plain and without any of the extravagant details the noblemen in the Vatican favored.

"I'm sorry," Chiara started, glancing up at him through thick black eyelashes, "I should have-" Her eyes widened as she realized whom she was looking at, and then she threw her arms around Alfonso's waist.

"You're safe," he breathed, his hands on her shoulders, sighing with relief.

"Yes," Chiara said quietly, "But they're looking for me. I have to escape. Now. It's the only time."

"Into the city then," Alfonso responded, looking at her dress with a frown, "You can't escape in that."

"What I wouldn't give for some hose, leggings, or breeches," Chiara muttered angrily, taking his arm and steering him toward the gate. They would need to get across the entire courtyard, and then through the gate. There were too many guards. Would they be able to get out?

"My lady, I believe you'd still be lacking," Alfonso said, leaning closer to her as they strolled, like the servant lover of a minor noblewoman, or perhaps an older brother. Chiara wrinkled her nose while her pulse raced with her nervousness.

"Perhaps," Chiara said briefly and then lapsed into silence, gaze dropping to her feet though she glanced around them. The guards, while watchful, were not so overly alert that they were watching her.

"You're shaking," Alfonso whispered under his breath.

"I am afraid," Chiara whispered back, lengthening her stride. Alfonso kept up with her easily, but luck was not to be theirs. The middle of the courtyard was a fountain, and walking around it brought them both closer to the pair of guards near the porticos there. Chiara watched them whisper together from the corner of her eye, her nails digging into Alfonso's forearm. He remained as calm as ever, patting her hand though she felt his heart speed up.

"Do not be afraid," Alfonso murmured as guards began to approach them, "There is nothing to fear."

"There is everything to fear," Chiara breathed, trotting to keep up with Alfonso's long legs.

"Sir, a moment," one of the guards said, and Alfonso stopped, Chiara trembling besides him, balanced on the edge between fight and flight.

"Yes?" Alfonso asked unconcernedly. The guard came closer.

"The girl, is she some relation to you?" Chiara pressed closer to Alfonso at the words, barely able to look at the guard. Alfonso put a protective arm about her shoulders.

"What do you want with my sister?" Alfonso demanded.

"A prisoner escaped, a girl suspected of crimes against the Pope," the guard replied, his partner scrutinizing Chiara. Time slowed down as he attempted to turn her around and Alfonso's hidden blade flashed out as he palmed the chin of the guard. The man fell dead just as Chiara lashed out, her fingers finding the eyes of the one looking at her and digging into the sockets savagely, snarling as she pulled. The enucleated guard screamed as he fell back and Alfonso sprinted ahead, Chiara close behind.

"To the gate!" Alfonso shouted while Chiara caught up, nimbly ducking around a guard lucky enough to get close. "Don't stop for anything!" She flew by, a flurry of lavender skirts and a flash of black bodice. A pair of Papal guards prepared to defend the gate as Alfonso killed another guard and Chiara dashed forward, directly toward the gateway. Freedom beckoned, and she would escape this place, or she would die trying. She could hear cries of 'Assassin!', but she could also hear Alfonso's steps just behind her and her spirits soared. And then, as if in response to her hopes rising in her throat, a white shape fell, slaying the Papal guards and clearing the gate, snatching her up as she reached him with a cry of pure joy. Ezio, Alfonso, and Chiara spirited out the gates and vanished into the streets of Rome.

Alfonso split from Chiara and Ezio quickly, leaving them to steal some boys clothing from a tailor and dump Chiara's dress in an alleyway. Freed from the excess fabric of the dress, Chiara scampered up the side of a building like a monkey and then flew across the rooftops, away from the Vatican with Ezio by her side and letting her lead.

She had been held captive too long, and she felt herself tiring much too quickly, still anxious to put more distance between herself and the place where she had been kept. She looked over her shoulder often, apprehension apparent in her every movement, and Ezio noticed. Chiara had always been sure and determined, but now she was tentative, almost frightened. Finally, she slowed, almost collapsing on a rooftop, sheltered from the sun by a chimney. Ezio crouched down in front of her.

"You've grown soft, but a little training will bring you back to form," Ezio said gently as she panted.

"I'll begin training tomorrow, master," she panted, attempting to pull herself together. Ezio stayed her with a hand on her shoulder.

"Rest," he said simply, "We've not too much further to Tiber Island, but I do not wish you to be half-dead when we get there. Serafina and Marisa have been worried." Chiara ran her fingers through her lose hair, tiredly re-braiding it since she had no pin to make it hold.

"With luck, I'll make it back alive," she said, sliding her back up against the rough bricks of the chimney. Ezio straightened with her, and then he was leading the way back to Tiber. She was moving slower, and he didn't push her to go any faster, too preoccupied with his own relief.

By the time they made it back to Tiber Island, Alfonso had already returned and spread the good news that Chiara was among their ranks again. Marisa and Serafina fussed over Chiara and showered her with attention that made her uncomfortable, and then Chiara escaped from them, heading for her room in their little fortress. Ezio was waiting at the entrance to her chamber, and she looked up at him with exhausted, questioning eyes. Saying nothing, Ezio swept her off her feet and carried her away. The Chiara he'd known before would never have tolerated this, but this creature, with her soft and weary eyes, needed care. She clung to him, laying her head against his shoulder, a strangely wounded silence between them.

"He raped me," Chiara said finally, her voice soft and broken, "He drugged me and took me and I-" Her words set his blood on fire with a never-ending flame of rage, adding another black mark to the bastard Cesare's list of transgressions.

"Hush," Ezio murmured, his burn for revenge settling into long-lasting coals. He felt the tickle of moisture at his neck, and the flutter of her eyelashes as he paused to open the door to his own room. He brought her inside, kicking the door shut.

"Don't hate me," she whispered as he dropped her onto the bed, and he silenced her with a long kiss.

"Never," Ezio reassured her, rubbing his thumb across the tear streaks, "I am only too glad to have you back. I've nearly lost you twice now. You did what was required to keep yourself alive."

"He never really knew if I was an assassin or not," Chiara said quietly, "He was never able to make me confess anything."

"Then you have done your duty," Ezio murmured, moving fluidly to kneel over her, hands on either side of her elbows, forcing her to lay flat. He pressed his mouth to hers and then she was clutching at him again, pulling him down by the front of his tunic.

"I missed you so much," she whimpered helplessly, his mouth moving down her throat.

"And I you," he murmured reverently against her skin. Within seconds, she was naked and he was stripping speedily, his fingers working at the various knots and buckles. When he settled onto her body at last, she sighed, her only desire during all her captivity filled. To be in his arms, knowing that she was safe – it was worth every moment of terror and loneliness she had endured. His mouth slipped to her breasts, laving them with his tongue and softly whispered endearments, hands hitching her slender legs about his waist. Moonlight silvered his skin, touched his hair with a shimmer that Chiara couldn't resist touching, sliding her fingers into his hair and tugging his face back up to hers to kiss him thoroughly. He took her gently in response, relishing her sharp gasps of pleasure, the way she surrendered to him with no reservations. He surged in her until she came undone with a soft cry, shaking to pieces beneath him, and he let himself go, releasing his body to the rushing pleasure of hers.

The quiet moments after were heavy with intimacy, Ezio resting much of his weight on his elbows as he brushed black hair away from her eyes, hazy with satiation. She ran her fingers gently over his chest as if to reassure herself that he was real, her lips curving lightly.

"It's not a dream," she said, closing her eyes as he dropped his head to nuzzle her cheek, his beard rough against her face.

"No, it is not," he agreed quietly, rolling onto his back and pulling her with him so that she sprawled over him like a cat in the sun. They fell asleep like that, tangled together over the coverlet of the bed.


End file.
